Stand Accused
by Annu123
Summary: Betraying her so-called father she could take, but betraying Ronan was never easy for Gamora. Neither was it for him. (Ronan/Gamora)
1. Passion

**A/N: **Darker stuff, based on the movie, but will eventually go AU. I had a little plot bunny hopping around about the complex nature of the relationship between Gamora and Ronan. This fic is the end result. It is a 'what if?' story, initially written as a one-shot, which kind of exploded into a multi chapter fic. Hopefully you like it! :)

**Summary: **Betraying her so-called father she could take, but betraying Ronan was never easy for Gamora. Neither was it for him.

**Rated: **M for (non-explicit) adult themes/situations and violence.

**Stand Accused**

by Annu

**Part 1: Passion**

There she stood, by the tall mirrors, which extended for the full length of the back wall of her quarters aboard the _Dark Aster_. The purpose of their existence was not to provide her means to admire her beauty – she was not a woman of that kind, of such insignificant and useless desires.

Instead Gamora could spend hours practicing; embracing the darkness, silence and the solitude of the small room she had been given. She would use her own reflection to perfect her strikes, to ensure that each and every tip of her every finger was placed correctly during a hit or the angle her ankle followed the furious flow of her kick. She would maneuver amidst a wave of unseen, non-existent enemies until exhaustion burned in her muscles and set her lungs on fire. Hundreds, a thousand hours she had battled there, alone, striving for perfection and never being freed by such.

And nothing less she did expect of herself.

Her labored breath, lungs thirsting for air. The vicious beat of her heart like a lone drum inside her ribcage. Usually only those sounds accompanied her. The feeling of moistness gathering to her hairline and to her back; the thin cloth of her shirt following the shape of her body and sticking to her skin. Countless times she had sought for her utmost limits alone and finally collapsed to her knees whilst gasping for air, strangely satiated by the knowledge that she had given everything she got…but yet feeling as hollow as before the exercise.

Gamora had followed those routines of sweat and battle set by herself every day she had been aboard the flagship of Ronan the Accuser. Unless she was traversing the galaxy due to a mission the Kree had sent her to, she had used her time to practice… and to dwell in the loneliness she instinctively so heavily desired for.

But…

But there had been one deviation.

Once _he _had sat there, behind her, on her bed. It had been the sole occasion he had visited her quarters. The room had shrunk in size close to being almost suffocating due to the presence of the tall, armored man whose natural aura was nothing less than oppressive.

The Kree had commanded her to continue with her routines. And she had done so, feeling the gaze of the piercing eyes in her back. Two blue strikingly sharp and often so condemning blades.

In the end he had stated that he found enjoyment in watching her practice. Seeing the fire within her soul and the determination and passion she used to rain that exact same flame of pain upon her enemies.

_Their _enemies, he had stressed.

…Only during this one occasion had the dark, powerful voice been soft…

It likely was the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given to her. To anyone. Ronan was not a man who shared such words lightly. Or rather at all. Rarely anything not related to what Gamora had defined as his _faith_ and sentences born of his ideology, tactics and mechanisms of battle left his lips.

- Not towards the direction of his slaves at least.

A slave. That was how she had formulated the cruel position within her mind. She had been given as a loaned property to a man, to an anarchist, to a zealot. A lunatic. A psychopath delivering those twisted ways he deemed as justice. The man had many names and all equally damning.

And when she had laid her eyes upon the tall, blue-skinned, muscularly framed and heavily armored Kree for the first time at the bridge of the _Aster, _there had been no words radiating even the smallest hint of appreciation in her mind.

She had stood there with her so-called sister, Nebula, then. Together, armed and armored, two beautifully packed and deadly presents given away by the man who insisted on being called their father. The man who they both despised and feared, equally.

It had been a moment of mutual evaluation. The black-clad man, the Kree known as Ronan the Accuser, had eyed them long, scrutinized them thoroughly. Sharp dark blue eyes somewhere amidst the darkness and the black paint had followed curves of their bodies, explored every inch. Although far from being so, Gamora had felt naked under the dark, judgmental gaze and unresponsive expression.

"Your father says you are his most skilled Lieutenants," the man in black armor had stated, lips twisting.

"Let me see."

…And the Kree had lunged into a fierce attack. Taken aback by the sudden turn of events, Gamora's sharp reflexes betrayed her. The first lash of the open palm landed on her cheek and she fell down onto her knees, tasting the iron of blood in her mouth. The dark, metallic floor had felt cool, unpleasant and revolting under her fingers.

Adrenaline had flooded her system. She rolled out of the way of the next attack, seeing the black armored boot slip past her pelvis mere millimeters away, feeling the flow of air following in its wake. Gamora had backed towards the further end of the bridge, fingers bending around the hilt of her blade. Preparing for another attack, she had witnessed Ronan toss Nebula effortlessly to the floor like a marionette, which had its strings cut.

Posture tense and features twisting in disdain, fully clad in the black armor, the Kree was Death materialized.

"Take this as a lesson. Where I will send you, there is no place…no excuse for being unprepared," the Kree had growled.

The man's eyes were two dark stones inside the blackness. The black paint around his eyes, which followed his cheeks to the end of his jaw and lower lip, was a mask of fury.

"I am _not_ impressed!"

The half a shout, half a statement had concluded the short meeting. The Kree had dismissed them with a fierce gesture hinting of frustration and disappointment in their performance. Gamora had wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. Red had stained the green skin. She had offered her hand to her adopted Luphomoid sister and they had left the bridge, mentally and physically beaten.

Ronan expected them to give every ounce of their essences. Otherwise they were worthless to him.

…Vermin. Insects.

Gamora had no reason to believe otherwise. But what she had not foreseen were his plans related to their skills.

Unexpectedly, during the first weeks of their stay, the tall Kree Accuser did start taking interest in their training. He would watch the two sisters spar for a while, for a few minutes at most. His face was always an expressionless, blank wall on the way of his thoughts, and after a moment of silence he would take his leave on them.

Although no words said, there always was a shroud of judgment and evaluation present.

…As if they were nothing, but goods he had acquired and was constructing plans on using them.

Until, one day, after weeks of silent observation the Kree had proposed to spar with them. His intent was to train them. To hone their skills. The way he explained, the cold words stated; they were no value to him unless he saw them making progress. Yes – he saw them as weapons nonetheless, but instead of defeating men he wanted them to put down armies.

Gamora had accepted the challenge. Three times she was hit to the ground. And that exact amount of times she had gotten back up and charged against the Kree, ignoring the pain and complaints shrieked by her beaten muscles.

Finally he bound her against the wall of the training area, immobilizing her efficiently with his iron grip and sheer weight.

"Do you yield?" he pushed, eyes directed straight towards hers and mouth only a finger's width away from her lips. Gamora felt the heat of his breath on her skin.

_Do you think that's all I got?_

She had thought and pressed her lips against his.

She saw his eyes loose a portion of their obdurate focus and enlarge as a sign of surprise. The grip holding her still loosened, just slightly.

This resulting short moment of hesitation was all she needed to shift the direction of the battle. To turn it to the actual opposite. Locking the Kree's leg with her own, she used the wall behind her back as a support and pulled legs under the armored man. Black armor hit the ground with a loud clank as the Kree lost his balance. Gamora did not wait. In a blink of an eye she was sitting over her opponent, placing the blade of her retractable sword against the blue, exposed skin of his neck.

"Being unprepared is unacceptable," she had hissed, leaning over the Kree.

"You _dare_ to…?!" Ronan boomed, red hot rage flaring in his eyes. But the sentence was cut short when the Kree was once again on top of his emotions and seemed to make the connection to his own prior statement.

He pushed the blade from his throat nonchalantly and was quickly back on his feet.

"You win this round, Gamora. I do not expect anything less from myself than from you," the Kree had told her whilst correcting the bindings of his armor.

"But I must stress that tactics like this benefit you only once."

There had been a hint of amusement behind the words.

It had been curious, intriguing in an undefined manner. Under all the armor, paint and strict unbending ideology was still a man.

A man - with weaknesses of a man.

He had tasted… far less repelling than she would have anticipated. In fact feelings like that had not crossed her mind during the kiss or afterwards.

Although there was nothing romantic in the kiss she had given – it was a split second decision and purely a tactical one – a small well-hidden part of her still caressed the memory. An action so simple and so far from violent… and she had been able to utilize it to her advance and gain a lone victory over a being so powerful. So strong and so untamed.

It felt…thrilling. She could not put it any other way.

She seemed to have gained a portion of the Accuser's respect after her flexible utilization of personal weaponry because some unstated details of their arrangement changed. Gamora was often summoned over her sister to accompany the Kree on the battlefield or to stand as a silent witness to many of those deadly, blood-tinted, stomach-turning proceedings that took place aboard the _Aster._

"You stand accused for crimes against the Kree Empire."

Those were the dull, cold, resolute words often spoken by her master, true to the essence of an Accuser. There was only one type of punishment the Kree offered. Death.

"You will never rule over Xandar!"

Some of the people brought aboard the _Aster_ were brave during the final moments of their lives. Like the Nova Corps soldier who had shouted those exact words at the Kree, thrown them at his face.

"No - I will _cure _it!" the Kree had responded, voice loud and coarse due to anger, before swinging the tall hammer he used as the means for delivering his justice.

Eerie crack of a skull was the noise, which ended any forms of conversation between a captive and the capturer. Blood and grey brain matter discolored the dark surfaces so often that the stains could not be washed away. Gamora did not twitch once due to the disgust nagging at the back of her mind during those countless times she was present.

During those occasions she did not see a man.

The being she saw was a bloodthirsty monster beyond anything even distinctively representing humane.

So tightly embraced by his beliefs and the war he saw as the only road worth taking, the Kree was a dark wind of Death sweeping through crowds of Xandarian people. And she was obliged to follow, because of her father, because of her duty.

Only rarely, during those sole moments when the battle had quieted down and there was no grim justice to spread, she did see hints of tiredness. Of a burden. Those manifested as small details breaking the steel strong walls surrounding his persona. Tiniest of cracks. Such as a lone second-long empty look in his eyes. The way he sometimes used a nearby wall to support his weight for a minute or two.

Ronan was a complex being.

She never enquired why the Kree had decided to visit her during that one night. Likely he would not have answered had she asked. He was an unexpected visitor behind her door. Dark eyes had lingered on her skin, which was moist due to the thin layer of sweat.

And she never quite understood why she had invited him inside her quarters.

Why she had let him stay.

…To watch her practice.

He was her master in the sense, yes. But there were actions she was not expected to perform – actions she never would have submitted herself to.

But that night there had been softness in his voice.

"The passion you use to enhance your movement…" he had said and stood up. "Because of the passion you truly are alive, Gamora. I see huge potential in you."

She had watched the tall Kree in silence. Seen once again, for this short period of time, the man beneath the threatening paint and the armor. Remembered the look of genuine surprise in the blue eyes during the single, unplanned kiss she had used as a diversion. Recalled the thrill.

…And she had thought,

_What the heck._

Determined, she had pushed the Kree back to her bed and went for the bindings of his armor. Their lips had met once again and this time there was no lack of response. When the large metal plates forming his armor were released from their fixings and her fingers explored the blue skin hidden underneath, she was already fully engulfed by the passion he had praised her of.

That exact night they had sparred for dominance. Eventually, neither of them had lost this battle.

…The mirrors of her room reminded her of those nightly hours at such a deep level. The mirrors in front of her.

Amidst the darkness, she had seen their reflections there. How the blue and the green were entwined.

…_their breaths, the rhythm, the sweat…_

…_fingers buried into her hair…_

…_the lips caressing her neck…_

…_those well-defined muscles she had sought and found…_

…_the fulfillment…_

The sound leaving her lips was full of rage and anguish, almost near inhumane. The fierce kick was directed towards her own reflection - towards a mirror and she saw it shatter to thousands of pieces. A rain of glass showered the floor.

It was not the man she was unable to stay with. It was the man-shaped monster who she could not allow to proceed any further. Because, ultimately, Ronan already had been consumed by his ideals and actions and the galaxy would burn where ever he set his foot.

Gamora walked out of the room and did not look back. She would not return, but would pay the price.

…Because due to her actions he would proceed to hunt her down until she stood accused in front of him...


	2. Obsession

**A/N: **Thank you for the amazing feedback, I appreciate it a lot.

**Stand Accused**

**Part 2: Obsession**

Ronan supported the end of the Universal Weapon to the floor, fingers clenched tight around the sleek, long shaft. Standing at an almost vertical position, the head of the powered war hammer rose up the height of his chest. It was a threatening piece of equipment, tempered with a sea of Xandarian blood and to be bathed in much more to come before he was finished.

…The Kree had to mentally fight the urge of swinging it around in a fierce arc and smashing down everything what was reminiscent of any reflective surface inside of what had been Gamora's quarters. Broken and distorted, his image in the shattered mirror was a mockery – an insult of the direst form thrown directly at his face.

He was not entirely sure why it felt like that. Why it… stung, somewhere very deep. It was an alien sensation, a shadow of an emotion fully out of place.

A dissonance.

Breaking glass made dry, cracking sounds under the enforced heel of his boot when he shifted his weight. Shards shattered into smaller pieces.

At some level the sharp, hard-edged noise was fuel to the flames of anger burning within his gut – each and every single crack seemed to stiffen his posture just a little more. The sensation itself was very different from the cold, calculative, determination-driven fury, which summarized his feelings towards Xandar - with which emotions he had lived for so long that they were nothing less than tattooed to his essence. This was something else.

This was…

This was white-hot heat condensed and stinging; it was a blood-hungry, rapid wild predator crouching, growling, teeth revealed… prior to lunging into an attack.

He felt his lips press together and twist, slightly.

"She will not return," Ronan stated out loud, his voice more forced and tense than he had expected. Traitorously it had slipped more emotion through than he had intended, would ever have allowed. It was both unsuitable and unacceptable. He had trained his mind for far too many years – for a lifetime – to let anything but _obligation _steer his thoughts.

Kree doctrine knew only one punishment for betrayal, he reminded himself.

His sole task was to ensure that it was delivered.

He had dealt with dozens of traitors to the Empire. Hundreds. Thousands. Why this one should be any different from the endless number of faceless criminals? This one bled just like the others. This one would scream just like the previous ones had. And after he was done and her blood had blended in the pool of those countless of creatures already forgotten and nameless, he would bathe in it and meditate.

Her essence was to be diluted until it existed no more. It was a justified punishment. The only suitable ending.

"All we know for sure is that she has been captured by the Nova Corps, Ronan," Nebula told him, breaking the moment's silence.

Insolent being. He knew more.

Ronan shook his head slowly and turned his gaze towards the Luphomoid, away from his own reflection. His eyes met the black irises.

The cybernetically augmented woman had been standing behind him. Lean build of notable height, but still significantly shorter than him. She was so close that he was able to smell her scent. There was a hint of a fruit he almost recognized, mixed to a metallic edge. It was starting to become a usual spot for the blue-skinned daughter of Thanos. She was a softly moving shadow at his heels. Ever so willing to serve.

…_So unlike her sister. _

A pet animal, he was beginning to think. He had never valued animals very high… although when well trained they could be of use and that was the intention linked to this one. This one was a honed piece of weaponry, a knife in the dark.

"She will be dealt with the only acceptable way," he stated decidedly with a tone lacking anything but the steel of determination and turned to leave the room. He heard the Luphomoid assassin to follow. Agile, almost silent steps.

"Our father will want to be informed," she said. The spike of annoyance was evident in her voice.

Ronan did not respond. He was not the one to contact Thanos, did not carry the slightest bit of intention of doing so. Undoubtedly he could expect the Titan to be furious, but time was of the utmost importance and he was not about to waste it. The year or so he had cooperated with the Titan had already stretched his patience to limits he never had known even existed and currently they were closing in. And it was the daughter of the Titan who was the issue – who was the cause for this mess, but inevitably Ronan was the one cleaning it.

The first thing to be conducted at the bridge of the _Aster _was to set the course towards Kyln without delay. According to his sources she was there, which made this almost all too unchallenging for him to enjoy the hunt. The prison was not a target Xandar expected him to take and he did not foresee much resistance. He would dig through the walls and to the heart of the facility, which held the Orb and…

_Her. _

Motors of the _Dark Aster_ hummed and clacked decks below as he traversed the dark hallways of his flagship.

_What'll be the color of her blood? _

He silently wondered. It was an idle, stray thought.

He did not recall if he had taken a life of a Zehoberi before. They were a rare species, almost extinct. Would the blood circulating her system be blue, like Xandarian? Or crimson and warm, identical to a Terran's life liquid? Or as green as her skin?

The same shade, but a degree darker than her lips, perhaps?

…Those had been hungry. Both hungry and thirsty at the same time. Full and so very soft…

He recalled too clearly the tenderness in how she tasted. The feminine sweetness of her scent -

- Ronan crushed the memory the very exact moment it appeared to him.

* * *

><p>"<em>He is mine, sister. Any crooked lip games you play do not change it."<em>

Nebula's voice had been cold, evident irritation bubbling through. Unsurprisingly the Luphomoid had not been impressed of the tactic Gamora had utilized prior to gaining her one-time sparring victory over their tall master. She had made it very clear that Gamora had been crossing a territory she had already claimed.

_Feel free, sis, _she had thought.

_I'd rather jump out of the airlock…_

Likely Nebula was drawn towards the power she saw the Kree harnessing. Like a stray of light can enthrall a creature of night. This was yet one more case where their desires and targets clearly were not aligned. To her, Ronan was nothing more than the means for cutting ties to the madman with the fatherly syndrome.

Or…

Or those had been her thoughts before things turned out a Hell of a lot a more complicated than she had planned.

And now this… This was something that could be described a setback. So far her visit to the Nova Corps prison facility had been somewhat noisy if nothing else. She had been recognized in less than one minute and after that there had been a persistent number of inmates banging the doors of the cell she had claimed as hers, tossing blunt insults towards her. Brave as a group but yet too uncertain to act with violence. But sooner or later their confidence would peak and then she'd proceed to educate them why Thanos valued her.

She was not overly concerned, for now, but some alliances were in order or she'd find a crude self-made dagger digging its way towards her spine when she attempted to rest for the first time. The …rodent who was a partial cause for her plan failing in the first place had boasted of escaping more than twenty prison facilities. On the other hand, the Terran male had muttered something about being concerned of getting new scratches to the paint job of his ship when the Nova Corps transferred it here. So possibly there was something she could work with.

She had to move quickly. Relocate the Orb, retrieve it and travel to Knowhere. Four million units.

Move quickly - likely the time or moreover the apparent lack of it was about to become an issue.

Undoubtedly Ronan already was aware of her location. And whether or not the Kree was also aware of her actual plans related to the Orb was a path she most certainly did not want to explore. The Accuser was relentless and unyielding; he was a battering ram slamming upon his enemies until nothing but Death remained.

Those were the traits, which specified his existence. The same way the paint was spread over his features every morning and the exoskeleton was donned to cover his body, he wore his set purpose in a manner that he had long since evolved into the physical manifestation of it.

It was the symbolic infamous paint, the hand-drawn half-mask covering a majority of his features with black which was the face the galaxy knew and feared. He was…had been the Supreme Public Accuser of the Kree, the Accuser above all Accusers, the personification of judgment and of the harshest justice. Or did he still hold that position? He had never been openly stripped of it, had he? Although considered rogue and a terrorist by certain establishments, the Kree Empire actually never had officially condemned his actions.

It was a blind eye they had turned towards the carnage.

Why? It must've been something about their society. Or… him, what he represented to them.

Not much was known of the Kree Accuser. She had been told that he was a member of their nobility, but summing up everything she knew of the Kree culture, that most likely meant something else than delightful evening dinners in fine clothing and dazzling jewelry. Quite the opposite, in fact. The man was a seasoned warrior, a warlord hardened by a lifetime of war, blood and death. She had seen the proof: those persisting ghosts of pain inflicted upon his flesh, old markings almost invisible but scars nonetheless.

…Her fingers had traveled over those, sensitive tips taking note of slight indentations…

Gamora pulled the train of thought to abrupt halt. She wanted to scowl.

Why could not she just let… go? Forget. Let it be. Be done with it.

She was not some lightheaded wench. Rationalized, it was a one-time sidestep she could call nothing else than a mistake. A spur-of-the-moment adventure, which she had absolutely no intention of repeating had there even been a chance.

So why did her thoughts keep coming back to the Kree?

To _them?_

…_The beast had been tamed. No – that was a very incorrect wording whilst she did find soft enjoyment in the trope. Under no circumstances the large male laying next to her could be made docile in such the way. Rather, although he did not have fangs or claws, the manner he rested could be compared to a predator gathering its strength. Calm and silent, deadly, ruthlessness and sheer physical power embedded into nothing less than the muscle and bone structure. _

_Naked skin following naked skin, she felt the warmth of his body. The broad chest pressing tightly against her back. The heat of his breath at her neck. The Kree was inhaling and exhaling heavily, drifting in and out of sleep… _

She had admired what she had seen. What she had received.

She knew she should have not, already during those hours of night. Because it was wrong in such a manner that she should have been coming up with new, stronger definitions for wrongness.

And yet, she found herself unable to.

…_The large palm was placed almost… possessively on her abdomen… _

Instead she had let her fingers follow curiously the convex forms of the muscles shaping the blue-skinned arm around her.

…_He reacted to her touch, was pulled from his sleep. A slightly shorter breath was inhaled and she felt his mass shift. Lips followed the arc of her neck towards her ear; the paint was textured and coarse. The hand slid up to cup her breast, the hint of roughness tingling her skin and leaving a trail of warmth in its wake._

…_She could feel the newly awakened desire, the soft hardness, his hunger not yet satiated…_

_Gamora turned her head, just enough to meet his features. The steady gaze in the dark eyes, the stare so intense. And there was a barely perceptible amount of... _

_Of…lightness? embedded into his expression. It was not a smile, but something yet unseen and unexpected which softened the stone of black and blue. Just slightly. _

_Another round - is that what you want, Accuser? _

She had thought and smashed once again her common sense to pieces.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: **Thanks for reading! It's going to be a bit complex… for the two. Starting in the next chapter, expect to see some major deviations from the movie storyline.

Please review!


	3. Entanglement

**A/N: **Thank you for the generous feedback, I appreciate it a lot! Sorry to keep you waiting – I had a terribly unproductive November in terms of writing. In any case: hopefully you enjoy the update. Ronan's getting a lot of screen time in this chapter.

And as said, it is getting quite complex for the two…

**Stand Accused**

**Part 3: Entanglement**

Aboard the _Dark Aster_, Ronan the Accuser turned his back towards the carnage when his fleet obliterated the Kyln.

A short moment ago he had paced back and forth in fury and frustration before the enormous viewport opening towards the darkness and infinity of space. Now his mind was again tightly reined; his thoughts steered towards possible next steps despite the accumulated anger, which was a cold stone generating pressure inside his chest.

Destruction of the Kyln had been a just decision. A disease classified as something curable. A putrid, rotting, gangrened and decaying limb was to be amputated. His _obligation_ and _privilege_ was to rid the galaxy of it.

The prison was no more but yet, the satisfaction he could in other circumstances have felt, was a faint shadow. A tainted whisper. In many aspects, what he should have classified as one more victory over Xandar felt…hollow.

The prey was still on the loose. _She _had escaped.

Ronan did not accept any forms of failure from his underlings. The least he swallowed nonachievement when he could not look beyond himself for the cause. This time - this _harrowing_ time - the window separating the success and its exact opposite had been three hours. It was an interval both excruciatingly short and more than well enough for a ship to make a jump to unknown coordinates.

What he had already instinctively known had been proven true by _her _actions. He had seen the surveillance tapes, witnessed _her _escape in the company of a motley crew of _waste_… It was a ragtag group composed of a Terran male, a bulky primitive, a walking tree and a talking - the Kree momentarily halted the train of thought and searched for a suitable word, his vocabulary lacking one - _rat_. A talking rat.

The Orb was still in _her _possession and he was yet again about to face the Titan empty-handed. The object seemed to be of great importance to Thanos but that was not the sole reason it had sparked his interest. If it was a tool able to call forth the destruction of Xandar as he had began to suspect, locating it had to trample down any of his other priorities.

He was a fool to allow being distracted.

But still. The grim understanding of being so close to catching _her_ and bringing _her _face-to-face with Kree justice she so openly had flouted and defied dominated his thoughts. It should have not.

Yet it did.

The Kree bitterly acknowledged that he had been so certain of his success, so eager to see the justice fulfilled that he had risked the fury of Thanos by following the lead without delay. The Titan expected to be informed of such proceedings as the first priority and time undoubtedly was going to tell if any harsh consequences were on the way.

Ronan did not exactly look forward to the next meeting with the Mad Titan.

But the thin, fragile façade of submissiveness he had managed to hold upright with sheer willpower was starting to show signs of cracking. Each passing moment it was harder and harder to remember that Thanos was capable of ripping his heart out in a matter of seconds. Though he often felt like a lapdog of a powerful master - wagging its tail whilst being kicked - his pride was a ferociously growling beast. He needed every ounce of his self-control to keep it leashed.

An Accuser's purpose was to act as a judge and an executioner but, first and foremost, to _serve _the people of Kree. Ronan was facing the need of reminding himself - nowadays constantly - that the impending destruction of Xandar outweighed any personal discomfort caused by his dealings with the Mad Titan. Although he could not deny that it was eating him, slowly, irrevocably, bit by bit.

Gritting his teeth in anger and disgust Ronan lifted his Universal Weapon, disinterested in wasting his thoughts on Thanos more than the absolute necessity required. The Accuser strode along the main walkway of the dimly lit bridge, past the four pilots in their chairs and towards his seat at the other end of the room. He sat down heavily but held his posture upright, ignoring the urge of leaning his weight to the hulking construction.

It had been a long day…week…year. During years of war those sequences defining natural cycles of time had long since evolved into a formless and incessantly evolving mass of events, lacking any beginning or end.

However, in his mind, the end did exist. It was in the form of the looming, crimson-colored aurora of the only possible resolution to the conflict between Xandar and the Kree Empire. The treaty was a fraud and it was an insult – he would see it to be ripped apart and soaked in blood of the very people who forged it.

A single act of betrayal was not of importance. Not in this context.

Ultimately, it was very simple. The Orb was of significance, for the Kree Empire and thus, for him. The sole reason _her _location was still of relevance – should have been – that the Orb likely was in her possession. Nothing else.

So why did her treachery haunt him?

…He loathed admitting that it did.

It could not have been because she had offered him an access to her quarters…and much more than that. A way of releasing pressure, although enjoyable, still mere a physical act.

He had lain with numerous females. There always were those who were more than eager to fulfill the needs of the Supreme Accuser. Many even considered it an honor, a privilege to contend for. Most of the females were blue-skinned Kree as he, noble and beautiful members of their race – and he did not expect to receive anything less. They'd moan and whisper passionately into his ear how they wanted him as he thrust into them.

In his mind, although born from natural instincts, the act of copulation was just another exercise of physical ability.

Ronan did not mind taking pleasure from the softer forms and cavities of a feminine body. And after his needs were satiated and the female had cleansed and dried him, he'd leave - his mind as devoid of the female as his skin was. In the end, he did not hold the act in higher significance than an occasional release of bodily needs.

Under no circumstances he asked for their names.

Never, never did he request for the same female twice.

…_This one is no different_, he thought dismissively, again.

Compared to others, she was not different. Of course she was not. Regardless of the fact that he had known this one's name. Or even though she had _not_ been the one seeking his company - this time it had been…

"Ronan."

Nebula's voice came out keen and required attention. The Kree turned his head to face the Luphomoid as the woman walked to his left side almost silently.

"The vessel is a Ravager M-ship registered by the name _Milano_," she reported.

"And the destination?" he immediately enquired, sharply.

"No further leads, Accuser. The trail has cooled down. One hour could have made a difference."

He felt his lips press together and twist as he held in the emerging grimace. The Kree wanted to shake his head in frustration, but forced himself to regain composure.

Ronan brought his fingers to his jaw, thinking. Chased both by him and the Nova Corps the Zehoberi did not have many options, not many safe havens - if any. Clearly Gamora had an interest towards the Orb. Either she was aware of what the object was or she expected to utilize it in some other benefiting manner. Everything was centered to the Orb, one way or another.

"What have you found out about her current… _acquaintances_?" he asked.

"It appears that my sister's loyalties have shifted towards the trash of the galaxy," Nebula told him, apparent venomous disdain in the slightly altered voice.

"They should not be much of a threat, Ronan. A thief, a bounty hunter and a brute… And a sentient plant. They have been identified as…"

The black, shining irises were fixated to his face as the Luphomoid explained everything she had been able to uncover about Gamora's companions. The details did not leave Ronan impressed, rather only wondering what the Zehoberi had seen in the lot.

Nuances - he'd smash his way through them if needed.

Nebula's eyes had not left his features, he noted.

"She will face the justice," Ronan stated laconically. "As will her companions."

Nebula's expression was unreadable as the woman leaned closer. Her scent was sweet and strong in his senses, but left him…cold.

"I trust the Kree justice is unyielding to those responsible of treason," she said, tone softening, lips almost touching his headdress.

"It is," he replied out loud.

"Then, do not ever question my loyalty, Accuser," she told him, voice an almost whisper. Ronan watched in silence as the Luphomoid reached with her left hand.

"Whatever services you require of me… I am yours to use."

The sensation - the soft, seducing and very implicative squeeze of her fingers very close to his crotch made his lips twist to a teeth-revealing grimace as the anger flared through him. With one fierce movement he clenched his fingers around the wrist of the hand – the limb that had made such a _daring_ action.

"Repeat that and prepare to _lose_ your hand!"

Nebula instinctively attempted to pull her hand from his grasp. In vain.

"Know your place!" he growled harshly, voice coarse due to anger. "There are certain lines that _shall not be_ _crossed_, daughter of _Thanos_!"

He twisted the lean, cybernetic limb with power fuelled by aggression; heard and felt the mechanics crack and snap satisfyingly under the force of his grip.

The voice leaving Nebula's lips was pained, unexpectedly so.

Ronan knew very well that the cybernetic arm was not capable of transferring such sensations. But when he let go of her, she gathered the artificial limb to her chest as if she had been genuinely hurt and injured. Ronan watched unmoved as the Luphomoid retreated hastily across the bridge and towards the nearby hallway.

_So unlike her sister_, he thought bitterly.

* * *

><p>Already prior to the <em>Milano<em> docking on Knowhere Gamora knew that she was facing an issue.

The 'issue' in question had a name. Peter Quill.

She had never met a man quite like the Terran before. First of all, the male seemed to be mentally totally immune to her background. He treated her like some…some _damsel in distress _even though she was more than capable of gutting him from navel to chin with one subtle stroke of her blade. Either he was a complete and utter fool, almost absurdly self-destructive or insanely confident of his charm. She could not decide which.

Secondly, she did not recall the previous time someone had openly flirted with her.

Flirted! - With _her_.

She was not a mindless flower for men to be dallied with.

And no man who still had functional brain cells inside his skull did so after becoming aware of her identity. More precisely, many men did not literally _have_ the actual brain matter in place after she had e_nlightened_ them who she was. Carrying the reputation of the most deadly woman in the galaxy and being the adopted daughter of someone capable of wiping away entire civilizations most certainly were not features, which increased her market value amongst the more masculine creatures.

Not that she had a need for being courted, adored and pampered.

She preferred straightforward communication and having the opportunity of her blade doing the talking shifted it even more up to her tastes. Battle was what she was made for – what she had trained for the extent of her life. So, when someone complimented the color of her eyes between the lines of a joke so terrible that it was almost humorous…or seemed to deliberately seek her company, she did not quite know if she had to be curious or horrified.

Gamora had chosen to walk the path that snaked somewhere in between.

As a result, she did not drive the Terran instantly away when the man had decided to join her on the lone balcony. The crowd inside the nearby bar formed a suffocating cacophony of noise and smell. Gamora had chosen to wait outside where a small balcony extended to the side of the building, watching the sick swirl of blue, purple and yellow on the sky of Knowhere.

Gamora was patient by nature and training, but this time the doing nothing was about to drive her crazy. The Collector was not a man to be hurried and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to carry out the exchange and be gone… Before Ronan was able to piece certain things together and the relentless Kree was _en route_ to Knowhere.

The tall man in the black armor, face painted in the way she so well knew, and the eyes, which just pierced into her soul…all of those memories were crafting shadows over her thoughts where ever she looked. She did not fear the Kree – her father had taught her what fear truly meant - and she would fight for her life if their paths were to cross again. But as long as the exchange with the Collector was not finalized and she wasn't off planet, the future was clouded by an oily pool of anticipation.

However, the presence of the Terran seemed to offer her a momentary break from those lone and dark thoughts. Possibly it was due to Peter's clumsy openness or the encouragement in his expression, but she had found them talking. She never did that, either. Discussed.

"When I found out that my father had promised to destroy a whole planet for Ronan… It was just too much. I had to act," she had told him. And he listened, nodded and commented understandingly. It was…unexpected.

A portion of her actually genuinely enjoyed the company of the man, watching his mouth move as he told her tales of Terran mythology…with that exited spark twinkling in his blue eyes. When he had finished, she wanted to hear more. And as the man placed gently his portable sound device on her ears, her world was flooded with the beat of Terran music…

It was something she had never experienced.

"_I fooled around and fell in love…" _a voice sang as the rhythm carried the melody and pulled her thoughts away from the present.

His hands were large and warm as his fingers closed tenderly around her palms. It did not feel uncomfortable. Possibly it was due to the warmth, the closeness, and the music…the intoxicating combination of all of those. But a thought of pushing the man away did not cross her mind at the time.

"_I fooled around and fell in love," _the device sang as she closed her eyes, submerging into the alien melody, her body responding to the tempting beat almost automatically.

The Terran's breath swept across her lips with warmth as the man leant closer. But when her lips parted to receive what she instinctively knew was coming, a lone, stray thought appeared in her mind.

…_Ronan would not do this… Kiss._

She presumed. Knew. Not outside sex, at least. She could not imagine the Kree Accuser leaning towards a woman like this, hands tenderly around her.

It was a fully and totally out-of-place image.

…And she recalled all too clearly the way he had tasted.

…The very unique flavor of the paint on his lips in combination with the utter male scent…

"_I fooled around and fell in love…"_

This situation - she understood. There was utmost wrongness in it and she was done with it.

…_No more! _

_I am nobody's woman!_ She mentally screamed.

Her eyes snapped open to see the Terran's face tilted downwards, almost touching hers.

"No!" Gamora cried out, drawing her dagger. Swiftly, almost as a reflex the blade was flush on the skin of his neck. Peter's back arched over the railing of the balcony when he bent away to avoid the sharp and very deadly contact.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaimed, short of breath.

"I know who you are, Peter Quill! I am not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your…your _pelvic sorcery_!" she shouted at him in anger, barely noticing that her voice trembled.

"Wha…what the Hell?" the Terran's voice cracked in apparent shock.

Gamora let the man go, shaking her head as the man watched her in curious bewilderment, a tiny bit of fear in his eyes. A portion of her wondered how people typically handled situations like this. The rest did not give a damn.

Or that was what she told herself.

* * *

><p>"You disobeyed my direct command, <em>boy<em>," Thanos boomed.

Ronan had finally gained the Titan's attention by slaughtering the Other. The powerful being had turned his gravity-ignorant throne around up high on the crimson sky of the Sanctuary. Although Ronan was forced to look up in order to meet the rugged, stony features of the Titan, they finally communicated in a way that was remotely reminiscent of the face-to-face manner.

Very remotely.

It was the best result he was ever going to get and he knew it.

The corpse of Thanos' servant was cooling and stiffening on the rocky, dead ground behind Ronan and he did not intend to spare it another glance. It was insulting to send a spokesperson…a pawn…to communicate with him and he was done with insults.

"I did what was necessary!" Ronan stated between his teeth, voice tense. The rage was still red hot and boiling, overwhelming and tempting. Although he'd found a single outlet for it in the form of the Other, it had not eased its tenacious grip over his mind.

"And yet you have nothing to show. Your meaningless politics and inefficiency are starting to _bore me_, boy."

Ronan stood his ground under Thanos' ramming glare.

_You know nothing, _he thought.

"_Your_ daughter is the cause for this delay. I only attempted to minimize the _damage_ she has caused with her recklessness," he snarled loudly, supporting to the rage-fuelled courage and peaking ignorance related to his own mortality.

"Apparently you have alienated my favorite daughter, Kree," the Titan told him.

The anger he felt was a seductive siren singing and he wondered, for a fraction of a second, just how long he'd actually last against the Titan.

Ronan saw Nebula shaking her head, openly disgusted due to Thanos' words. The Luphomoid woman had found a seat on one of the dark rocks under her father's floating throne and was still working to repair the arm he had damaged. On the way, the woman had complained that some of the more advanced mechanics were still not fine-tuned up to the level they had been.

"Gamora left by her own choice," he defended himself and _her _name tasted like venom in his mouth.

His words did not have an impact on the Titan who barely appeared to take note of them, if at all.

"I am allowing you one more chance, boy, and be appreciative of that. I will honor the agreement if you bring me the Orb. But fail again and I shall bathe star-ways with your blood," Thanos rumbled before once again turning his back towards him.

"Sounds good, Dad," Nebula stated, interpreting that the meeting was over. Although she hid her emotions well, he knew that she was as eager to leave the Sanctuary as he was.

The woman walked past him towards the outline of the small transportation vessel not far off. They had used it to arrive on the rock. He strode beside her in silence; dully pondering the extent of actions Nebula's hatred towards her father could accelerate her, when adequately prompted.

Ronan had seen it inside Nebula - the same flame as ablaze within her sister - the day they had met for the first time. In that single, distinguishable manner the two sisters were very much alike. Identical. Both of them equally loathed, despised and detested the man who had raised them.

Aesthetically pleasing and lethal, determined in their mutual hatred towards their adopted father - so very alike. And yet, so very different at such a basic, principle level.

There was one: the submissive. And the other, the…intriguingly…defiant.

_Gamora._

There had been defiance in her eyes, always. Even when she had been riding on top of him by her own initiative, his hands around her waist…

…_her hair loose, dark strands sticking to the thin layer of sweat on her green skin. She arched forward, elegantly…_

And their eyes had collided. Hunger and passion - yet defiance.

He had expected her to stand beside him in battle when the time of making the choice should come. Her betrayal had sparked something within him that he was still looking words for…something he was yet digesting and could not fully comprehend.

The justice would wash her from his mind.

Upon boarding the _Dark _Aster, they were greeted by a Sakaaran officer who reported that the fleet had received a message. From the brute. From one of Gamora's companions.

Those few words of vengeful, drunken speech probably were the greatest form of idiocy Ronan had ever witnessed, but he did not feel amusement. Coordinates of Knowhere were set to navigation computers of the _Aster_ as he watched the dark space through the viewport, Nebula standing next to him.

The prey was there, waiting.

"The Orb _or_ my sister, Accuser?" Nebula asked sharply and only then he noticed that he had spoken those words aloud. "Nowadays you do not seem to make a difference. Do I need to enquire if you are losing your focus?"

Ronan kept his expression stoic and emotionless when he turned to face Nebula. Or at least he tried.

For the first time in a very long time he was unsure, if he actually had succeeded.

* * *

><p>She floated.<p>

In absolute silence. Nothingness.

The sensation of extreme cold, eating inwards towards her bones…cut away.

Gamora's first perception was the darkness surrounding her and the steady humming noise on the background. Where ever she was, the slight pain pulsating from her joints and hands informed that she had landed hard.

It took her a while to understand that she was sprawled face down against a cold, hard, flat surface. Gamora blinked at the lack of light, her eyesight adjusting to the dim, almost non-existent illumination when she pushed herself shakily to more of a sitting position.

She drew in a heavy breath to steady her jumbled thoughts.

It took a little longer for the images to set themselves to their correct locations.

There was something about an attempted escape in a small mining ship…Necrocrafts everywhere like a swarm of flesh-eating flies. She remembered the vicious impact when ammo spat out by a Necrocraft tore her ship to pieces of metal shrapnel. After that…there was not much.

Nothing.

Gamora swallowed down her growing concern.

Looking further back, in addition, there was a recollection of a sphere…of an orb.

_The Orb._

The disorientation washed away when pieces of memories clicked to their intended places.

Not a mere sphere – it had been _the_ Orb…which had revealed an Infinity Stone inside its metallic shell and the Collector's apartment had burned to cinders. It was an item capable of destroying entire planets, the Collector had claimed. After witnessing the tiniest fragment of its power firsthand, she did not have trouble believing exactly that.

The Orb had been in her possession when Ronan's fleet had suddenly blackened the sky and she'd stolen the mining ship to make a hasty escape. She felt like cursing out loud when the icy grip of sheer horror momentarily took a hold of her.

So where was the Stone? Where in the _blasted Hell_ was the Stone?

Ronan had to be kept away from it - at all costs.

She examined her surroundings in furious sweeps to get a grasp upon her whereabouts. The room was not large; a small square restricted by dark, metallic walls and a heavy door. She had already deduced that it was a holding cell. The room itself was not conspicuous, but there was a sense of familiarity in the dark metal used to construct it.

Way too much familiarity, in fact.

She wanted to shout out in frustration, wanted to slam her hands against the cool, menacing surfaces. Kick and slash her way through the impenetrable, hard metal.

…Because, under any circumstances, did Gamora recognize engravings adorning walls of the _Dark Aster. _Those ancient Kree symbols decorated many surfaces, such as the bridge…

…And holding cells meant for the accused.

There, inside the darkest rooms of the _Aster_ repeated the engraving carrying the meaning of Death and retribution – in Kree those were the same.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2:** Thanks for reading!

I don't want to repeat the movie too much, but could not resist using the 'pelvic sorcery' scene in this context. It probably was the first and last 1970s pop music influenced scene I'm ever going to write in a serious/darker-toned story. :D Hopefully it worked in the way it was intended to work.

Next: So, they meet again…


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